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ESSAYS  BY  ABRAHAM  COWLEY 


Y 


va 


ESSAYS  BY 

ABRAHAM  COWLEY 


ELM  PRESS 

HIGHLAND  PARK  ILLINOIS 

J902 


V 


College 
lAhrasy 

FK 

33^3^ 

ESSAYS 

t.  Of  Liberty. 

HE  Liberty  of  a  people 
consists  in  being  gov^ 
erned  by  Laws  which 
they  have  made  them/ 
selves,  under  whatso/ 
ever  form  it  be  of  Gov/ 
ernment.  The  Liberty  of  a  private  man 
in  being  Master  of  his  own  Time  and 
Actions,  as  far  as  may  consist  with  the 
Laws  of  God  and  of  his  Country.  Of 
this  latter  only  we  are  here  to  discourse, 
and  to  enquire  what  estate  of  life  does 
best  seat  us  in  the  possession  of  it.  This 
liberty  of  our  own  actions  is  such  a 
Fundamental  Priviledge  of  humane  Na/ 


jS- Jv  ajOO'\J>  ij 


ture,  that  God  himself,  notwithstanding 
all  his  infinite  power  and  right  over  us, 
permits  us  to  enjoy  it,  and  that  too  after 
a  forfeiture  made  by  the  Rebellion  of 
Adam.  He  takes  so  much  care  for  the 
entire  preservation  of  it  to  us,  that  he 
suffers  neither  his  Providence  nor  Eter^ 
nal  Decree  to  break  or  infringe  it.  Now 
for  our  Time,  the  same  God  to  whom 
we  are  butTenants^at^will  for  the  whole, 
requires  but  the  seventh  part  to  be  paid 
to  him  as  a  small  Quit^Rent  in  acknow^ 
ledgement  of  his  Title.  It  is  man  only 
that  has  the  impudence  to  demand  our 
whole  time,  though  he  neither  gave  it, 
nor  can  restore  it,  nor  is  able  to  pay  any 
considerable  value  for  the  least  part  of 
it.  This  Birth^right  of  mankind  above 
all  other  Creatures,  some  are  forced  by 
hunger  to  sell,  like  Esau,  for  Bread  and 
Broth;  but  the  greatest  part  of  men  make 
such  a  Bargain  for  the  delivery  up  of 
themselves,  as  Thamer  did  with  Judah, 
instead  of  a  Kid,  the  necessary  Proviso 
2 


ions  of  human  life,  they  are  contented 
to  do  it  for  Rings  and  Bracelets.  The 
great  dealers  in  this  World  may  be  div^ 
ided  into  the  Ambitious,  the  Covetous, 
and  the  Voluptuous,  and  that  all  these 
men  sell  themselves  to  be  slaves,  though 
to  the  vulgar  it  may  seem  a  Stoical 
Paradox,  will  appear  to  the  wise  so  plain 
and  obvious  that  they  will  scarce  think 
it  deserves  the  labour  of  Argumenta^ 
tion.  Let  us  first  consider  the  Ambi^ 
tious,  and  those  both  in  their  progress 
to  Greatness,  and  after  the  attaining  of 
it.  There  is  nothing  truer  than  what 
Salust  says,  Dominationis  in  alios  ser^ 
vitium  suum  Mercedem  dant,  They  are 
content  to  pay  so  great  a  price  as  their 
own  Servitude,  to  purchase  the  domi/ 
nation  over  others.  The  first  thing  they 
must  resolve  to  sacrifice,  is  their  whole 
time,  they  must  never  stop,  nor  ever 
turn  aside  whilst  in  the  race  of  Glory, 
no  not  like  Atlanta  for  Golden  Apples. 
Neither  indeed  can  a  man  stop  himself 

3 


if  he  would  when  he's  in  this  Career. 
Fertur  equis  Auriga,  neque  audit  Cur^ 
rus  habenas. 

Pray  let  us  consider  but  a  little,  what 
mean  servile  things  men  do  for  this  im^ 
aginary  Food.  We  cannot  fetch  a  greats 
er  example  of  it,  than  from  the  chief 
Men  of  that  Nation  which  boasted  most 
of  Liberty.  To  what  pitiful  baseness  did 
the  noblest  Romans  submit  themselves 
for  the  obtaining  of  a  Praetorship,  or  the 
Consular  dignity?  they  put  on  the  habit 
of  Suppliants,  and  ran  about  on  foot, 
and  in  dirt,  through  all  the  Tribes  to 
beg  Voices,  they  flattered  the  poorest 
Artisons,  and  carried  a  Nomenclator 
with  them  to  whisper  in  their  ear  every 
mans  name,  lest  they  should  mistake 
it  in  their  salutations ;  they  shook  the 
hand  and  kiss'd  the  cheek  of  every  pop^ 
ular  Tradesman :  they  stood  all  day  at 
every  Market  in  the  publick  places  to 
shew  and  ingratiate  themselves  to  the 
rout ;  they  imploy'd  all  their  friends  to 

4 


solicite  for  them;  they  kept  open  Tables 
in  every  street,  they  distributed  Wine 
and  Bread  and  Money,  even  to  the  vil^ 
est  of  the  people.  En  Romanos  rerum 
dominos!  Behold  the  Masters  of  the 
World  begging  from  door  to  door.  This 
particular  humble  way  to  greatness  is 
now  out  of  fashion,  but  yet  every  Am^ 
bitious  person  is  still  in  some  sort  a 
Roman  Candidate.  He  must  feast  and 
bribe,  and  attend,  and  flatter,  and  adore 
many  Beasts,  though  not  the  Beast  with 
many  heads.  Catiline,  who  was  so  proud 
that  he  could  not  content  himself  with 
a  less  power  than  Sylla's,  was  yet  so 
humble  for  the  attaining  of  it,  as  to  make 
himself  the  most  contemptible  of  allser/ 
vants,  to  be  a  public  Bawd,  to  provide 
Whores,  and  something  worse,  for  all 
the  young  Gentlemen  of  Rome,  whose 
hot  lusts,  and  courages,  and  heads,  he 
thought  he  might  make  use  of.  And 
since  I  happen  here  to  propose  Catiline 
for  my  instance  (though  there  be  thou^ 

5 


sands  of  examples  for  the  same  thing) 
give  me  leave  to  transcribe  the  character 
which  Cicero  gives  of  this  noble  Slave, 
because  it  is  a  general  description  of  all 
ambitious  men,  and  which  Machiavel 
perhaps  would  say  ought  to  be  the  Rule 
of  their  life  and  Actions.  This  man  (says 
he,  as  most  of  you  may  well  remember) 
had  many  artificial  touches  and  strokes 
that  looked  like  the  beauty  of  great  Vir^ 
tues,  his  intimate  conversation  was  with 
the  worst  of  Men,  and  yet  he  seem'd  to 
be  an  Admirer  and  Lover  of  the  best; 
he  was  furnished  with  all  the  nets  of 
Lust  and  Luxury,  and  yet  wanted  not 
the  Arms  of  Labour  and  Industry :  nei^ 
ther  do  I  believe  that  there  was  ever  any 
Monster  in  Nature,  composed  out  of  so 
many  different  and  disagreeing  parts. 
Who  more  acceptable,  sometimes,  to  the 
most  honourable  persons  ?  Who  more 
a  favourite  to  the  most  Infamous?  Who, 
sometimes  appear'd  a  braver  champion, 
who  at  other  times,  a  bolder  enemy  to 
6 


his  Country?  Who  more  dissolute  in 
his  pleasures  ?  Who  more  patient  in  his 
toils  ?  Who  more  rapacious  in  robbing  ? 
Who  more  profuse  in  giving  ?  Above 
all  things,  this  was  remarkable  and  ad" 
mirable  in  him,  The  Arts  he  had  to  ac^ 
quire  the  good  opinion  and  kindness  of 
all  sorts  of  men,  to  retain  it  with  great 
complaisance,  to  communicate  all  things 
to  them,  watch  and  serve  all  the  occa^ 
.sions  of  their  fortune,  both  with  his 
money  and  his  interest,  and  his  industry; 
and  if  need  were  not  by  sticking  at  any 
wickedness  whatsoever  that  might  be 
useful  to  them,  to  bend  and  turn  about 
his  own  Nature,  and  laveer  with  every 
Wind,  to  live  severely  with  the  Melan-' 
choly,  merrily  with  the  pleasant,  gravely 
with  the  aged,  wantonly  with  the  young, 
desperately  with  the  bold,  and  debauch^ 
edly  with  the  luxurious ;  with  this  va^ 
riety  and  multiplicity  of  his  Nature,  as 
he  had  made  a  collection  of  friendships 
with  all  the  most  wicked  and  restless 

7 


of  all  Nations,  so  by  the  artificial  simu^ 
lation  of  some  Virtues,  he  made  a  shift 
to  ensnare  some  honest  and  eminent 
persons  into  his  familiarity;  neither 
could  so  vast  a  design  as  the  destruction 
of  this  Empire  have  been  undertaken  by 
him,  if  the  immanity  of  so  many  Vices 
had  not  been  covered  and  disguised  by 
the  appearances  of  some  excellent  quali^ 
ties. 

I  see,  methinks,  the  Character  of  an 
Anti^PauI,  who  became  all  things  to  all 
Men,  that  he  might  destroy  all ;  who  only 
wanted  the  assistance  of  Fortune  to  have 
been  as  great  as  his  Friend  Caesar  was  a 
little  after  him.  And  the  ways  of  Caesar 
to  compass  the  same  ends  (I  mean  to  the 
Civil  War,  which  was  but  another  man-' 
ner  of  setting  his  Country  on  Fire)  were 
not  unlike  these,  though  he  used  after^ 
ward  his  unjust  Dominion  with  more 
moderation  than  I  think  the  other  would 
have  done.  Salust  therefore  who  was 
well  acquainted  with  them  both,  and 

8 


with  many  such  like  Gentlemen  of  his 
time,  says,  That  it  is  the  nature  of  Am^ 
bition  (Ambitio  multos  mortales  falsos 
fieri  coegit,  &c.)  to  make  men  Lyars  and 
Cheaters,  to  hide  the  truth  in  their 
Breasts,  and  shew  like  Juglers,  another 
thing  in  their  Mouths  to  cut  all  friends 
ships  and  enmities  to  the  measure  of 
their  own  Interest,  and  to  make  a  good 
Countenance  without  the  help  of  good 
Will.  And  can  there  be  freedom  with 
this  perpetual  constraint?  What  is  it 
but  a  kind  of  Rack  that  forces  men  to 
say  what  they  have  no  mind  to  ?  I  have 
wondred  at  the  extravagant  and  bar^ 
barous  stratagem  of  Zopyrus,  and  more 
at  the  praises  which  I  find  of  so  de^ 
formed  an  action;  who,  though  he  was 
one  of  the  seven  Grandees  of  Persia,  and 
the  Son  of  Megabisus,  who  had  freed  be^ 
fore  his  Country  from  an  ignoble  Ser^ 
vitude,  slit  his  own  Nose  and  Lips,  cut 
off  his  own  Ears,  scourged  and  wounded 
his  whole  Body,  that  he  might,  under 

9 


pretence  of  having  been  mangled  so  in^ 
humanely  by  Darius,  be  received  into 
Babylon  (then  besieged  by  the  Persians) 
and  get  into  the  command  of  it,  by  the 
recommendation  of  socruel  a  sufferance 
and  their  hopes  of  his  endeavouring  to 
revenge  it.  It  is  great  pity  the  Babylo^ 
nians  suspected  not  his  falsehood,  that 
they  might  have  cut  off  his  Hands  too, 
and  whipt  him  back  again.  But  the  De^ 
sign  succeeded,  he  betrayed  the  City, 
and  was  made  Governor  of  it.  What 
brutish  Master  ever  punished  his  offends 
ing  Slave  with  so  little  mercy  as  Am^ 
bition  did  this  Zopyrus  ?  and  yet  how 
many  are  there  in  all  Nations  who  im^ 
itate  him  in  some  degree  for  a  less  re^ 
ward  ?  who  though  they  endure  not  so 
much  corporal  pain  for  a  small  prefer^ 
ment,  of  some  Honour  (as  they  call  it) 
yet  stick  not  to  commit  actions,  by 
which  they  are  more  shamefully  and 
more  lastingly  stigmatized?  But  you 
may  say.  Though  these  be  the  most  or^ 

to 


dinary  and  open  ways  to  greatness,  yet 
there  are  narrow,  thorny,  and  little  trod/ 
den  paths  too,  through  which  some  Men 
find  a  Passage  by  virtuous  Industry.  I 
grant,  sometimes  they  may ;  but  then 
that  Industry  must  be  such,  as  cannot 
consist  with  Liberty,  though  it  may  with 
Honesty. 

Thou'rt  Careful,  Frugal,  Painful ;  we 
commend  a  Servant  so,  but  not  a  Friend. 

Well  then,  we  must  acknowledge  the 
toil  and  drudgery  which  we  are  forced 
to  endure  in  this  Ascent,  but  we  are 
Epicures  and  Lords  when  once  we  are 
gotten  up  into  the  High  Places.  This  is 
but  a  short  Apprentiship,  after  which, 
we  are  made  free  of  Royal  Company. 
If  we  fall  in  love  with  any  beauteous 
Women,  we  must  be  content  that  they 
would  be  our  Mistresses  whilst  we  woo 
them ;  as  soon  as  we  are  wedded  and 
enjoy,  'tis  we  shall  be  the  Masters. 

I  am  willing  to  stick  to  this  similitude 
in  the  case  of  Greatness ;  we  enter  into 

n 


the  Bonds  of  it  like  those  of  Matrimony; 
we  are  bewitched  with  the  outward  and 
printed  Beauty,  and  take  it  for  better 
or  worse,  before  we  know  it's  true  na^ 
ture  and  interior  Inconveniences.  A 
great  Fortune  (says  Seneca)  is  a  great 
servitude.  But  many  are  of  that  opinion 
which  Brutus  imputes  (I  hope  untruly) 
even  to  that  Patron  of  Liberty,  his  friend 
Cicero.  We  fear  (says  he  to  Atticus) 
Death,  and  Banishment,  and  Poverty,  a 
great  deal  too  much.  Cicero  I  am  afraid, 
thinks  these  to  be  the  worst  of  evils, 
and  if  he  have  but  some  persons,  from 
whom  he  can  obtain  what  he  has  a  mind 
to,  and  others  who  will  flatter  and  wor^ 
ship  him,  seems  to  be  well  enough  con^ 
tented  with  an  honourable  servitude,  if 
anything  indeed  ought  to  be  called  hon^ 
ourable,  in  so  base  and  contumelious  a 
condition.  This  was  spoken  as  became 
the  bravest  man  who  was  ever  born  in 
the  bravest  Common^wealth :  but  with 
us  generally,  no  condition  passes  for  ser^ 
\2 


vitude,  that  is  accompanied  with  great 
Riches  and  Honors,  and  with  the  service 
of  many  Inferiors.  This  is  but  a  decep^ 
tion  of  the  sight  through  a  false  medium. 
For  if  a  Groom  serve  a  Gentleman  in 
his  Chamber,  that  Gentleman  a  Lord, 
and  that  Lord  a  Prince ;  the  Groom,  the 
Gentleman,  and  the  Lord,  are  as  much 
Servants  one  as  the  other :  the  circum^ 
stantial  difference  of  the  one  getting 
only  his  Bread  and  Wages,  the  second 
a  plentiful,  and  the  third  a  superfluous 
Estate,  is  no  more  intrinsical  to  this 
matter  than  the  difference  between  a 
plain,  a  rich,  and  a  gaudy  Livery.  I  do 
not  say.  That  he  who  sells  his  whole 
Time,  and  his  own  Will  for  one  hun^ 
dred  thousand,  is  not  a  wiser  Merchant 
than  he  who  does  it  for  one  hundred 
pounds,  but  I  will  swear  they  are  both 
Merchants,  and  that  he  is  happier  than 
both,  who  can  live  contentedly  without 
selling  that  Estate  to  which  he  was  born. 
But  this  Dependance  upon  Superiours 

i3 


is  but  one  chain  of  the  Lovers  of  Power, 
Armatorum  Trecenta  Perithoam  cohi^ 
bent  catenae.  Let's  begin  with  him  by 
break  of  day :  For  by  that  time  he's  be^ 
sieged  by  two  or  three  hundred  Suitors ; 
and  the  Hall  and  Antichambers  (all  the 
Outworks)  possest  by  the  Enemy,  as 
soon  as  his  Chamber  opens,  they  are 
ready  to  break  into  that,  or  to  corrupt 
the  Guard  for  Entrance.  This  is  so  essen^ 
tial  a  part  of  Greatness,  that  whosoever 
is  without  it,  looks  like  a  fallen  Favour^ 
ite,  like  a  person  disgraced,  and  con^ 
demned  to  what  he  please  all  the  morn^ 
ing.  There  are  some  who  rather  than 
want  this,  are  contented  to  have  their 
rooms  fill'd  up  every  day  with  murmur^ 
ing  and  cursing  Creditors,  and  to  charge 
bravely  through  a  Body  of  them  to  get 
to  their  Coach.  Now  I  would  fain  know 
which  is  the  worst  duty,  that  of  any  one 
particular  person  who  waits  to  speak 
with  the  Great  man,  or  the  Great  mans, 
who  waits  every  day  to  speak  with  all 
14 


the  company.  Aliena  negotia  centum 
per  caput  &  circumsaliunt  latus,  A  hun^ 
dred  businesses  of  other  men  (many 
unjust  and  most  impertinent)  fly  contin^ 
ually  about  his  Head  and  Ears,  and  strike 
him  in  the  Face  like  Dors.  Let's  con^ 
template  him  a  little  at  another  special 
Scene  of  Glory,  and  that  is,  his  Table. 
Here  he  seems  to  be  the  Lord  of  all 
Nature ;  the  Earth  affords  him  her  best 
Metals  for  his  dishes,  her  best  Vegeta^ 
bles  and  Animals  for  his  Food ;  the  Air 
and  Sea  supply  him  with  their  choicest 
Birds  and  Fishes :  and  a  great  many  men 
who  look  like  Masters,  attend  upon  him, 
and  yet  when  all  this  is  done,  even  all 
this  is  but  a  Tabl'd  Host,  'tis  crowded 
with  people  for  whom  he  cares  not,  with 
many  Parasites,  and  some  Spies,  with 
the  most  burdensome  sort  of  Guests, 
the  Endeavourers  to  be  witty. 

But  every  body  pays  him  great  re^ 
spect,  every  body  commends  his  Meat, 
that  is  his  Money;  every  body  admires 

15 


the  exquisite  dressing  and  ordering  of 
it,  that  is,  his  Clark  of  the  Kitchen  or 
his  Cook ;  every  body  loves  his  Hospi^ 
tality,  that  is,  his  Vanity.  But  I  desire  to 
know,  why  the  honest  Inn^keeper,  who 
provides  a  publick  Table  for  his  Profit, 
should  be  but  of  a  mean  Profession ;  and 
he  who  does  it  for  his  Honour,  a  muni^ 
ficent  Prince  ?  You'll  say,  because  one 
sells  and  the  other  gives :  Nay,  both  sell, 
though  for  different  things,  the  one  for 
plain  Money,  the  other  for  I  know  not 
what  Jewels,  whose  value  is  in  Custom 
and  in  Fancy.  If  then  his  table  be  made  a 
Snare  (as  the  Scripture  speaks)  to  his 
Liberty,  where  can  he  hope  for  Free^ 
dom  ?  There  is  always,  and  everywhere 
some  restraint  upon  him.  He's  guarded 
with  Crowds,  and  shackled  with  Formal^ 
ities.  The  half  Hat,  the  whole  Hat ;  the 
half  Smile,  the  whole  Smile,  the  Nod, 
the  Embrace,  the  Positive  parting  with 
a  little  Bow,  the  Comparative  at  the  mid^ 
die  of  the  room,  the  Superlative  at  the 
}6 


door;  and  if  the  Person  be  Pan  huper 
sebastus,  there's  a  Huper  /  superlative 
ceremony  then  of  conducting  him  to 
the  bottom  of  the  Stairs,  or  to  the  very 
Gate :  as  if  there  were  such  Rules  set  to 
these  Leviathians  as  are  to  the  Sea,Hith^ 
erto  shalt  thou  go,  and  no  further.  Per-' 
ditur  haec  inter  miseros  Lux,  Thus 
wretchedly  the  precious  day  is  lost. 

How  many  impertinent  Letters  and 
Visits  must  he  receive,  and  sometimes 
answer  both  too  as  impertinently  ?  he 
never  sets  his  foot  beyond  his  threshold, 
unless  like  a  Funeral,  he  have  a  train 
to  follow  him,  as  if,  like  the  dead  Corps, 
he  would  not  stir,  till  the  Bearers  were 
all  ready.  My  life,  (says  Horace)  speak/ 
ing  to  one  of  those  Magnificos,  is  a  great 
deal  more  easie  and  commodious  than 
thine ;  In  that  I  can  go  into  the  Market 
and  cheapen  what  I  please  without  be^ 
ing  wondred  at ;  and  take  my  horse  and 
ride  as  far  as  Tarentum,  without  being 
mist.  'Tis  an  unpleasant  constraint  to 

\7 


be  always  under  the  sight  and  observa^ 
tion,  and  censure  of  others :  as  there 
may  be  vanity  in  it,  so  methinks,  there 
should  be  vexation  too  of  Spirit:  And  I 
wonder  how  Princes  can  endure  to 
have  two  or  three  hundred  men  stand 
gazing  upon  them  whilst  they  are  at 
Dinner,  and  take  notice  of  every  bit 
they  eat.  Nothing  seems  greater,  and 
more  Lordly,  than  the  multitude  of 
Domestique  Servants;  but  even  this 
too,  if  weighed  seriously,  is  a  piece  of 
Servitude;  unless  you  will  be  a  Servant 
to  them  (as  many  men  are)  the  trouble 
and  care  of  yours  in  the  Government 
of  them  all,  is  much  more  than  that  of 
every  one  of  them  in  their  observance 
of  you.  I  take  the  profession  of  a  Schools 
master  to  be  one  of  the  most  useful, 
and  which  ought  to  be  of  the  most  Hon-' 
ourable  in  a  Common-'wealth,  yet  cer^ 
tainly  all  his  Fasces,  and  Tyrannical 
Authority  over  so  many  boys,take  away 
his  own  Liberty  more  than  theirs. 


I  do  but  slightly  touch  upon  all  these 
particulars  of  the  slavery  of  Greatness, 
I  shake  but  a  few  of  their  outward 
Chains,  their  Anger,  Hatred,  Jealousie, 
Fear,  Envy,  Grief,  and  all  the  Et  caetera 
of  their  passions,  which  are  the  secret, 
but  constant  Tyrants  and  Tortures  of 
their  Life  I  omit  here,  because  though 
they  be  symptomes  most  frequent  and 
violent  in  this  Disease,  yet  they  are 
common  too  in  some  degree  to  the 
Epidemical  Disease  of  Life  it  self.  But 
the  Ambitious  man,  though  he  be  so 
many  ways  a  Slave  (O  toties  servus!) 
yet  he  bears  it  bravely  and  heroically ; 
he  struts  and  looks  big  upon  the  Stage ; 
he  thinks  himself  a  real  Prince  in  his 
Masking  Habit,  and  deceives  too  all  the 
foolish  part  of  his  Spectators:  He^s  a 
slave  in  Saturnalibus.  The  Covetous 
Man  is  a  downright  Servant,  a  Draught 
Horse,  without  Bells,  or  Feathers;  ad 
Metalla  damnatus,  a  man  condemned 
to  work  in  Mines,  which  is  the  lowest 

\9 


and  hardest  condition  of  servitude;  and, 
to  increase  his  Misery,  a  worker  there 
for  he  knows  not  whom.  He  heapeth  up 
Riches,  and  he  knows  not  who  shall  en^ 
joy  them.  'Tis  only  sure  that  he  himself 
neither  shall  nor  can  enjoy  them.  He's 
an  indigent  needy  Slave,  he  will  hardly 
allow  himself  Cloaths  and  Board-wages; 
Uncitim  vix  demenso  de  suo  suum 
defraudans  Genium  comparcit  miser; 
He  defrauds  not  only  other  Men,  but 
his  own  Genius ;  He  cheats  himself  for 
Money.  But  the  servile  and  miserable 
condition  of  this  wretch  is  so  apparent, 
that  I  leave  it  as  evident  to  every  mans 
sight,  as  well  as  judgment.  It  seems  a 
more  difficult  work  to  prove  that  the 
voluptuous  man  too  is  but  a  Servant : 
What  can  be  more  the  life  of  a  Free^ 
man,  or  as  we  say  ordinarily,  of  a  Gen^ 
tieman,  than  to  follow  nothing  but  his 
own  pleasures?  Why,  FIl  tell  you  who  is 
that  true  Freeman,  and  that  true  Gen^ 
tieman:  Not  he  who  blindly  follows  all 
20 


his  pleasures  (the  very  name  of  Follow^ 
ers  is  servile)  but  he  who  rationally 
guides  them,  and  is  not  hindred  by 
outward  impediments  in  the  conduct 
and  enjoyment  of  them.  If  I  want  skill 
or  force  to  restrain  the  Beast  that  I  ride 
upon,  though  I  bought  it,  and  call  it  my 
own,  yet  in  the  truth  of  the  matter,  I 
am  at  that  time  rather  his  Man,  than  he 
my  Horse.  The  voluptuous  Men  (whom 
we  are  fallen  upon)  may  be  divided,  I 
think,  into  the  Lustful  and  Luxurious, 
who  are  both  servants  of  the  Belly; 
the  other  whom  we  spoke  of  before, 
the  Ambitious  and  the  Covetous,  were 
Ktt/ca  Orjpia,  Evil  wild  Beasts,  these  are 

yaa-repe^   apyaX,   SIow  Bellies,  as    OUr 

Translation  renders  it;  but  the  word 
apyaX  (which  is  a  fantastical  word,  with 
two  directly  opposite  significations)  will 
bear  as  well  the  translation  of  Quick  or 
Diligent  Bellies,  and  both  Interpreta^ 
tions  may  be  applyed  to  these  men. 
Metrodorus  said,  That  he  had  learnt 

2J 


ahrjOw^  yaarrpX  X'^pX^ecrOaL,  tO   give  his 

Belly  just  Thanks  for  all  his  Pleasures: 
This  by  the  Calumniators  of  Epicurus 
his  Philosophy  was  objected  as  one  of 
the  most  scandalous  of  all  their  sayings; 
which  according  to  my  charitable  un^ 
derstanding  may  admit  a  very  virtuous 
Sense,  which  is,  That  he  thanked  his 
own  Belly  for  that  moderation  in  the 
customary  appetites  of  it,  which  can 
.only  give  a  Man  Liberty  and  Happiness 
in  this  World.  Let  this  suffice  at  pres^ 
ent  to  be  spoken  of  those  great  Trium^ 
viri  of  the  World ;  the  Covetous  Man, 
who  is  a  mean  villian,  like  Lepidus: 
the  Ambitious,  who  is  a  brave  one,  like 
Octavius;  and  the  Voluptuous,  who  is 
a  loose  and  debauched  one,  like  Mark 
Antony.  Quisnam  igitur  Liber?  Sa^ 
piens  sibi  qui  Imperiosus:  Not  Oeno^ 
maus,  who  commits  himself  wholly  to 
a  Charioteer  that  may  break  his  Neck, 
but  the  Man 


22 


Who  governs  his  own  course  with  steady 

Hand, 
Who  does  Himself  with  Soveraign  Pow'r 

Command: 
Whom  neither  Death  nor  Poverty  does 

fright, 
Who  stands  not  aukwardly  in  his  own  light 
Against  the  Truth ;  who  can  when 

Pleasures  knock 
Loud  at  his  door,  keep  from  the  bolt  and  lock: 
Who  can,  though  Honour  at  his  Gate 

should  stay 
In  all  her  Masking  Cloaths  send  her  away 
And  cry,  Be  gone,  I  have  no  mind  to  Play. 

This,  I  confess  is  a  Freeman :  but  it 
may  be  said,  That  many  persons  are 
so  shackled  by  their  Fortune,  that  they 
are  hindred  from  enjoyment  of  that 
Manurnission  which  they  have  obtained 
from  Virtue.  I  do  both  understand, 
and  in  part  feel  the  weight  of  this  ob^ 
jection :  All  I  can  answer  to  it,  is.  That 
we  must  get  as  much  Liberty  as  we 
can,  we  must  use  our  utmost  endeav^ 
ors,  and  when  all  that  is  done,  be 
contented  with  the  Length  of  that  Line 

23 


which  is  allow'd  us.  If  you  ask  me  what 
condition  of  Life  I  think  most  allow'd ; 
I  should  pitch  upon  that  sort  of  People 
whom  King  James  was  wont  to  call  the 
Happiest  of  our  Nation,  the  Men  placed 
in  the  Country  by  their  Fortune  above 
an  Hi gh^Cons table,  and  yet  beneath 
the  trouble  of  a  Justice  of  Peace,  in  a 
moderate  Plenty,  without  any  just  Ar^ 
gument  for  the  desire  of  increasing  it 
by  the  care  of  many  Relations,  and  with 
so  much  knowledge,  and  love  of  Piety 
and  Philosophy  (that  is,  of  the  study  of 
Gods  laws,  and  of  his  Creatures)  as  may 
afford  him  matter  enough  never  to  be 
idle,  though  without  Business,  and  never 
to  be  Melancholy,  though  without  Sin 
and  Vanity. 


24 


2.  Of  Solitude. 


'UNQUAM  minus  sol^ 
us,  quam  cum  solus,  is 
now  become  a  very 
vulgar  saying.  Every 
Man,  and  almost  ev^ 
ery  Boy  for  these  sev^ 
enteen  hundred  years,  has  had  it  in  his 
mouth.  But  it  was  at  first  spoken  by  the 
Excellent  Scipio,  who  was  without  ques^ 
tion  a  most  Eloquent  and  Witty  person, 
as  well  as  the  most  Wise,  most  Worthy, 
most  Happy,  and  the  Greatest  of  all 
Mankind.  His  meaning  no  doubt  was 
this,  That  he  found  more  satisfaction  to 
his  mind,  and  more  improvement  of  it 

25 


by  Solitude  than  by  Company.  And  to 
shew  that  he  spoke  not  this  loosly,  or 
out  of  vanity,  after  he  had  made  Rome 
Mistress  of  almost  the  whole  World, 
he  retired  himself  from  it  by  a  volun^ 
tary  exile,  and  at  a  private  house  in  the 
middle  of  a  Wood  nearLinternum,  pass^ 
ed  the  remainder  of  his  Glorious  life  no 
less  Gloriously.  This  house  Seneca  went 
to  see  so  long  after  with  great  venera< 
tion,  and  among  other  things  described 
his  Baths  to  have  been  of  so  mean  a 
structure,  that  now  says  he,  the  basest 
of  the  people  would  despise  them,  and 
cry  out,  Poor  Scipio  understood  not 
how  to  live.  What  an  Authority  is  here 
for  the  credit  of  Retreat  ?  and  happy  had 
it  been  for  Hannibal,  if  Adversity  could 
have  taught  him  as  much  wisdom  as 
was  learnt  by  Scipio  from  the  highest 
prosperities.  This  would  be  no  wonder, 
if  it  were  as  truly  as  it  is  colourably  and 
wittily  said  by  Monsieur  de  Montague, 
That  Ambition  it  self  might  teach  us  to 
26 


love  Solitude,  there's  nothing  that  docs 
so  much  hate  to  have  Companions. 
'Tis  true,  it  loves  to  have  its  Elbows 
free;  it  detests  to  have  a  Company  on 
either  side,  but  it  delights  above  all 
things  in  a  Train  behind,  I,  and  Ushers 
too  before  it.  But  the  greatest  part  of 
Men  are  so  far  from  the  opinion  of  that 
Noble  Roman,  that  if  they  chance  at  any 
time  to  be  without  company  they're 
like  a  becalmed  Ship,  they  never  move 
but  by  the  Wind  of  other  Men's  breath, 
and  have  no  Oars  of  their  own  to  steer 
withal.  It  is  very  fantastical  and  con^ 
tradictory  in  humane  Nature,  that  men 
should  love  themselves  above  all  the 
rest  of  the  World,  and  yet  never  endure 
to  be  with  themselves.  When  they  are 
in  love  with  a  Mistress,  all  other  per/ 
sons  are  importunate  and  burdensome 
to  them.  Tecum  vivere  amem,  tecum 
obeam  Lubens,  They  would  live  and 
die  with  her  alone. 


27 


Sic  ego  secrctis  possim  bene  vivere  silvis, 
Qua  nulla  humano  sit  via  trita  pede. 

Tu  mihi  curarum  requires,  tu  nocte  vel  atra 
Lumen,  &  in  solis  tu  mihi  turba  locis. 

With  thee  forever  I  in  Woods  could  rest, 
Where  never  human  foot  the  ground  has 

prest : 
Thou  from  all  shades  the  darkness  canst 

exclude. 
And  from  a  Desart  banish  solitude. 

And  yet  our  Dear  Self  is  so  weari^ 
some  to  us,  that  we  can  scarcely  sup^ 
port  its  conversation  for  an  hour  to^ 
gether.  This  is  such  an  odd  temper  of 
mind  as  Catullus  expresses  towards  one 
of  his  Mistresses,  whom  we  may  sup^ 
pose  to  have  been  of  a  very  unsociable 
humour. 

Odi  et  Amo,  quanam  id  faciam  ratione  re" 

quiris? 
Nescio,  sed  fieri  sentio,  &  excrucior, 

I  Hate,  and  yet  I  love  thee  too ; 
How  can  that  be  ?  I  know  not  how ; 
Only  that  so  it  is  I  know, 
And  feel  with  Torment  that  'tis  so. 

28 


It  is  a  deplorable  condition,  this,  and 
drives  a  man  sometimes  to  pitiful  shifts 
in  seeking  how  to  avoid  himself. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  nei^ 
ther  he  who  is  a  Fop  in  the  World,  is  a 
fit  man  to  be  alone ;  nor  he  who  has  set 
his  heart  much  upon  the  World,  though 
he  have  never  so  much  understanding ; 
so  that  Solitude  can  be  well  fitted  and 
set  right,  but  upon  a  very  few  persons. 
They  must  have  enough  knowledge  of 
the  World  to  see  the  vanity  of  it,  and 
enough  Virtue  to  despise  all  Vanity; 
if  the  Mind  be  possest  of  any  Lust  or 
Passions,  a  man  had  better  be  in  a  Fair, 
than  in  a  Wood  alone.  They  may  like 
petty  Thieves  cheat  us  perhaps,  and 
pick  our  pockets  in  the  midst  of  com/ 
pany,  but  like  Robbers  they  use  to  strip 
and  bind,  or  murder  us  when  they  catch 
us  alone.  This  is  but  to  retreat  from 
Men,  and  fall  into  the  hands  of  Devils. 
*Tis  like  the  punishment  of  Parricides 
among  the  Romans,  to  be  sow'd  into  a 

29 


Bag  with  an  Ape,  a  Dog,  and  a  Serpent. 
The  first  work  therefore  that  a  man 
must  do  to  make  himself  capable  of  the 
good  of  Solitude,  is,  the  very  Eradica-- 
tion  of  all  Lusts,  for  how  is  it  possible 
for  a  man  to  enjoy  himself  while  his 
Affections  are  tyed  to  things  without 
Himself?  In  the  second  place  he  must 
learn  the  Art,  and  get  the  Habit  of 
Thinking;  for  this  too,  no  less  than  well 
speaking  depends  upon  much  practice; 
and  Cogitation  is  the  thing  which  dis^ 
tinguishes  the  Solitude  of  a  God  from 
a  wild  Beast.  Now  because  the  Soul  of 
Man  is  not  by  its  own  Nature  or  ob^ 
servation  furnisht  with  sufficient  Ma^ 
terials  to  work  upon;  it  is  necessary  for 
it  to  have  continual  recourse  to  Learn^ 
ing  and  Books  for  fresh  supplies,  so  that 
the  solitary  Life  will  grow  indigent,  and 
be  ready  to  starve  without  them ;  but 
if  once  we  be  thoroughly  engaged  in 
the  Love  of  Letters,  instead  of  being 
wearied  with  the  length  of  any  day  we 
30 


shall  only  complain  of  the  shortness  our 
whole  Life. 

O  Life,  long  to  the  Fool,  short  to  the  Wise! 
The  first  Minister  of  State  has  not  so 
much  business  in  publick,  as  a  wise  man 
has  in  private ;  if  the  one  have  little  leas^ 
ure  to  be  alone,  the  other  has  less  leas^ 
ure  to  be  in  company ;  the  one  has  but 
part  of  the  affairs  of  one  Nation,  the 
other  all  the  works  of  God  and  Nature 
under  his  consideration.  There  is  no 
saying  shocks  me  so  much  as  that 
which  I  hear  very  often ;  That  a  man 
does  not  know  how  to  pass  his  Time. 
'Twould  have  been  but  ill  spoken  by 
Methusalem  in  the  Nine  hundred  sixty 
ninth  year  of  his  Life,  so  far  it  is  from 
us,  who  have  not  time  enough  to  attain 
to  the  utmost  perfection  of  any  part  of 
any  Science,  to  have  cause  to  complain 
that  we  are  forced  to  be  idle  for  want 
of  work.  But  this  you'l  say  is  work 
only  for  the  Learned,  others  are  not  ca/ 
pable  either  of  the  employments  or  di^ 

3\ 


vcrtisements  that  arrive  from  Letters. 
I  know  they  are  not ;  and  therefore  can^ 
not  much  recommend  Solitude  to  a  man 
totally  illiterate.  But  if  any  man  be  so 
unlearned  as  to  want  entertainment  of 
the  little  Intervals  of  accidental  Solitude, 
which  frequently  occur  in  almost  all 
conditions  (except  the  very  meanest  of 
the  People,  who  have  business  enough 
in  the  necessary  Provisions  for  Life)  it 
is  truly  a  great  shame  both  to  his  Par^ 
cnts  and  Himself;  for  a  very  small  por^ 
tion  of  any  ingenious  Art  will  stop  up 
all  those  gaps  of  our  Time,  either  Mu^ 
sick,  or  Painting,  or  Designing,  or 
Chymistry,  or  History,  or  Gardening, 
or  twenty  other  things  will  do  it  usefully 
and  pleasantly ;  and  if  he  happen  to  set 
his  affections  upon  Poetry  (which  I  do 
not  advise  him  to  immoderately)  that 
will  overdo  it,  no  Wood  will  be  thick 
enough  to  hide  him  from  the  importu^ 
nities  of  company  or  business,  which 
would  abstract  him  from  his  Beloved. 
32 


3»  Of  Obscurity. 


AM  neque  Divftibus  coiL' 
tingunt  gaudia  solis. 

Nee  vixit  male,  qui  natus 
moriensque  Fcfellit. 

God  made  not  pleasures 
only  for  the  Rich, 
"^or  have  those  Men  without  their  share 

too  liv'd. 
Who  both  in  Life  and  Death  the  World  de" 
ceiv'd. 

This  seems  a  strange  Sentence  thtis 
litterally  Translated,  and  looks  as  if  it 
were  in  vindication  of  the  Men  of  bus*- 
iness  (for  who  else  can  deceive  the 
World?)  wh^eas  it  is  in  commendation 

33 


of  those  who  live  and  die  so  obscurely 
that  the  World  takes  no  notice  of  them. 
This  Horace  calls  deceiving  the  World, 
and  in  another  place  uses  the  same 
phrase. 
The  secret  Tracks  of  the  deceiving  Life. 

It  is  very  elegant  in  Latine,  but  our 
English  word  will  hardly  bear  up  to  that 
sense,  and  therefore  Mr.  Broom  trans^ 
lates  it  very  well. 
Or  from  a  Life,  led  as  it  were  by  stealth. 

Yet  we  say  in  our  Language,  a  thing 
deceives  our  sight,  when  it  passes  before 
us  unperceived,  and  we  may  say  well 
enough  out  of  the  same  Author, 

Sometimes  with  Sleep,  sometimes  with 

Wine  we  strive 
The  cares  of  Life  and  Troubles  to  deceive. 

But  that  is  not  to  deceive  the  World, 
but  deceive  ourselves,  as  Quintilian 
says,  Vitam  fallere.  To  draw  on  still, 
and  amuse,  and  deceive  our  Life  till  it 
be  advanced  insensibly  to  the  fatal  Peri^ 
34 


od,  and  fall  into  that  Pit  which  Nature 

hath  prepared  for  it.  The  meaning  of 

all  this  is  no  more  than  that  most  vul^ 

gar  saying,  Bene  qui  latuit,  bene  vixit, 

He  has  lived  well,  who  has  Iain  well  hidx 

den.  Which  if  it  be  a  truth,  the  World 

( ril  swear)  is  sufficiently  deceived :  For 

my  part,  I  think  it  is,  and  that  the  pleas^ 

antest  condition  of  life  is,  in  incognitio. 

What  a  brave  privikdge  is  it  to  be  free 

from  all  Contentions,  from  all  Envying 

or  being  Envied,  from  receiving  and 

from  paying  all  kind  of  Ceremonies  ? 

It  is  in  my  mind  a  very  delightful  pas^ 

time,  for  two  good  and  agreeable  friends 

to  travel  up  and  down  together  in  places 

where  they  are  by  no  body  known,  nor 

know  any  Body.  It  was  the  case  of 

Aeneas  and  his  Achates,  when  they 

walkt  invisibly  about  the  fields  and 

streets  of  Carthage,  Venus  her  self 

Avail  of  thickned  air  around  them  cast,  (past. 

That  none  might  know,  or  see  them  as  they 

The  common  story  of  Demosthenes's 

35 


confession  that  he  had  taken  great  pleas^ 
are  in  hearing  of  a  Tanker /woman  say 
as  he  past,  This  is  That  Demosthenes, 
is  wonderful  ridiculous  from  so  solid 
an  Orator.  I  my  self  have  often  met 
with  that  temptation  to  vanity  (if  it  were 
any)  but  I  am  so  far  from  finding  it  any 
pkasurethat  it  only  makes  me  run  fast/ 
er  from  the  place,  till  I  get  as  it  were  out 
of  sight/shot.  Democritus  relates,  and 
in  such  manner,  as  if  he  gloried  in  the 
good  fortune  and  commodity  of  it,  that 
when  he  came  to  Athens  no  body  there 
did  so  much  as  take  notice  of  him; 
and  Epicurus  lived  there  very  well,  that 
is,  lay  hid  many  years  in  his  Gardens, 
so  famous  since  that  time,  with  his 
friend  Metrodorus,  after  whose  death, 
making  in  one  of  his  Letters  a  kind  of 
commemoration  of  the  happiness  which 
they  two  had  enjoyed  together,  he  adds 
at  last,  that  he  thought  it  no  disparage^ 
ment  to  those  great  felicities  of  their  life, 
that  in  the  midst  of  the  most  talk'd  of 
36 


and  talking  Country  in  the  World,  they 
had  lived  so  long,  not  only  without  fame, 
but  almost  without  being  heard  of.  And 
yet  within  a  very  few  years  afterwards, 
there  were  no  two  Names  of  Men  more 
known,  or  more  generally  celebrated. 
If  we  engage  into  a  large  Acquaintance 
and  various  familiarities,  we  set  open 
our  gates  to  the  Invaders  of  most  of  our 
time :  we  expose  our  life  to  a  Quotidian 
Ague  of  frigid  impertinences,  which 
would  make  a  wise  man  tremble  to  think 
of.  Now,  as  for  being  known  much  by 
sight,  and  pointed  at,  I  cannot  compre^ 
hend  the  honour  that  lies  in  that :  What^ 
soever  it  be,  every  Mountebank  has  it 
more  than  the  best  Doctor,  and  the 
Hangman  more  than  the  Lord  Chief  Jus/ 
tice  of  a  City.  Every  Creature  has  it  both 
of  Nature  and  Art  if  it  be  any  ways  ex  / 
traordinary.  It  was  as  often  said.  This  is 
that  Bucephalus,  or  This  is  that  Incitatus, 
when  they  were  led  prancing  through 
the  streets,  as  This  is  that  Alexander,  or 

37 


This  is  that  Domitian ;  and  truly  for  the 
latter,  I  take  Incitatus  to  have  been  a 
much  more  Honourable  Beast  than  his 
Master,  and  more  deserving  the  Con^ 
sulship,  than  he  the  Empire.  I  love  and 
commend  a  true  good  Fame,  because 
it  is  the  shadow  of  Virtue,  not  that  it 
doth  any  good  to  the  Body  which  it  ac^ 
companies,  but  'tis  an  efficacious  shad^ 
ow,  and  like  that  of  S.  Peter  cures  the 
Diseases  of  others.  The  best  kind  of 
Glory,  no  doubt,  is  that  which  is  reflects 
ed  from  Honesty,  such  as  was  the  Glory 
of  Cato  and  Aristides,  but  it  was  harm^ 
ful  to  them  both,  and  is  seldom  bene^ 
ficial  to  any  man  whitest  he  lives :  what 
it  is  to  him  after  his  death,  I  cannot  say, 
because  I  love  not  Philosophy  meerly 
notional  and  conjectural,  and  no  man 
who  has  made  the  Experiment  has  been 
so  kind  as  to  come  back  to  inform  us. 
Upon  the  whole  matter,  I  account  a 
person  who  has  a  moderate  Mind  and 
Fortune,  and  lives  in  the  conversation 
38 


of  two  or  three  agreeable  friends,  with 
little  commerce  in  the  World  besides, 
who  is  esteemed  well  enough  by  his  few 
neighbors  that  know  him,  and  is  truly 
irreproachable  by  any  body,  and  so  af/ 
ter  a  healthful  quiet  life,  before  the  great 
inconveniences  of  old  age,  goes  more 
silently  out  of  it  than  he  came  in,  (for 
I  would  not  have  him  so  much  as  cry 
in  the  Exit.)  This  innocent  Deceiver  of 
the  World,  as  Horace  calls  him,  this 
Muta  Persona,  I  take  to  have  been  more 
happy  in  his  part,  than  the  greatest  Ac^ 
tors  that  fill  the  Stage  with  show  and 
noise,  nay,  even  than  Augustus  him/ 
self,  who  asked  with  his  last  breath, 
whether  he  had  not  played  his  Farce 
very  well. 


39 


4.  Of  Avarice. 


HERE  are  two  sorts  of 
Avarice,  the  one  is  but 
of  a  Bastard  kind,  and 
that  is,  the  rapacious 
Appetite  of  Gain;  not 
for  his  own  sake,  but 
for  the  pleasure  of  refunding  it  immed^ 
lately  through  all  the  Channels  of  Pride 
and  Luxury.  The  other  is  the  true  kind, 
and  properly  so  called ;  which  is  a  rest^ 
less  and  unsatiable  desire  of  Riches, 
not  for  any  farther  end  or  use,  but  only 
to  hoard,  and  preserve  and  perpetually 
cncrease  them.  The  Covetous  Man,  of 
the  first  kind,  is  like  a  greedy  Ostrich, 
40 


which  devours  any  Metal,  but  'tis  with 
an  intent  to  feed  upon  it,  and  in  effect 
it  makes  a  shift  to  digest  and  excern  it; 
The  second  is  like  the  foolish  Chough, 
which  loves  to  steal  Money  only  to  hide 
it.  The  first  does  much  harm  to  Manx 
kmd,  and  a  little  good  to  some  few: 
The  second  does  good  to  none ;  no,  not 
to  himself.  The  first  can  make  no  ex/ 
cuse  to  God,  or  Angels,  or  Rational 
Men  for  his  actions:  The  second  can 
give.no  reason  or  colour,  not  to  the 
Devil  himself,  for  what  he  does ;  He  is  a 
slave  to  Mammon  without  wages :  The 
first  makes  a  shift  to  be  beloved ;  I,  and 
envyed  too  by  some  People :  The  sec^ 
ond  is  the  universal  object  of  Hatred 
and  Contempt.  There  is  no  Vice  has 
been  so  pelted  with  good  Sentences, 
and  especially  by  the  Poets,  who  have 
pursued  it  with  Stories  and  Fables,  and 
Allegories,  and  Allusions;  and  moved, 
as  we  say,  every  Stone  to  fling  at  it: 
Among  all  which,  I  do  not  remember 


a  more  fine  and  Gentleman^Iike  Cor^ 
rection,  than  that  which  was  given  it 
by  one  line  of  Ovids. 

Dcsunt  Luxuriae  Multa,  Avaritiae  Omnia. 
Much  is  wanting  to  Luxury,  All  to  Avarice. 

To  which  saying,  I  have  a  mind  to 
add  one  Member,  and  render  it  thus : 

Poverty  wants  Some,  Luxury  Many, 
Avarice  All  Things. 

Some  body  says  of  a  Virtuous  and 
Wise  Man,  that  having  Nothing,  he  has 
All:  this  is  just  his  Antipode,  who,  havx 
ing  All  things,  yet  has  Nothing.  He's  a 
Guardian  Eunuch  to  his  beloved  Gold; 
Audivi  eos  Amatores  esse  maximos, 
sed  nil  potesse.  They're  the  fondest 
Lovers,  but  impotent  to  Enjoy. 

And  oh,  what  Mans  condition  can  be  worse 
Than  his,  whom  Plenty  starves,  and  Bless' 

ings  cursel 
The  Beggars  but  a  common  Fate  deplore. 
The  Rich  poor  Man's  Emphatically  Poor. 

I  wonder  how  it  comes  to  pass,  that 
there  has  never  been  any  Law  made 
42 


against  him:  Against  him,  do  I  say?  I 
mean,  for  him;  as  there  are  publick 
Provisions  made  for  all  other  Mad^men; 
it  is  very  reasonable  that  the  King  should 
appoint  some  Persons  (and  I  think  the 
Courtiers  would  not  be  against  this 
Proposition)  to  manage  his  Estate  dur^ 
ing  his  Life,  (for  his  Heirs  commonly 
need  not  that  care)  and  out  of  it  to 
make  it  their  business  to  see  that  he 
should  not  want  Alimony  befitting  his 
condition,  which  he  could  never  get 
out  of  his  own  cruel  fingers.  We  relieve 
idle  Vagrants,  and  counterfeit  Beggars, 
but  have  no  care  at  all  of  these  really 
Poor  men,  who  are  (methinks)  to  be 
respectfully  treated  in  regard  of  their 
quality.  I  might  be  endless  against  them, 
but  I  am  almost  choakt  with  the  supers 
abundance  of  the  Matter;  too  much 
Plenty  impoverishes  me  as  it  does  them. 


43 


5.  Of  Procrastination. 


A  Letter  to  Mr.  S.  L. 

AM  glad  that  you  approve 
and  applaud  my  design, 
of  withdrawing  my  self 
from  all  tumult  and  bus^ 
syA  KV^  iness  of  the  World;  and 
m  sjw.  consecrating  the  little 
^1^^  rest  of  my  time  to  those 
Studies,  to  which  Nature 
had  so  Motherly  inclined  me,  and  from 
which  Fortune  like  a  Step^mother  has 
so  long  detained  me.  But  nevertheless, 
(you  say)  which  But  is  Aerugo  mera, 
a  rust  which  spoils  the  good  Metal  it 
grows  upon;  but,  (you  say)  you  would 
44 


advise  me  not  to  precipitate  that  reso^ 
lution,  but  to  stay  a  while  longer  with 
patience  and  complaisance,  till  I  had 
gotten  such  an  Estate  as  might  afford 
me  (according  to  the  saying  of  that  per-- 
son  whom  you  and  I  love  very  much, 
and  would  believe  as  soon  as  another 
man)  Cum  dignitate  otium.  This  were 
excellent  advice  to  Joshua,  who  could 
bid  the  Sun  stay  too.  But  there's  no 
fooling  with  Life  when  it  is  once  turn'd 
beyond  forty.  The  seeking  for  a  For^ 
tune  then,  is  but  a  desperate  After/game, 
'tis  a  hundred  to  one,  if  a  man  fling 
two  Sixes  and  recover  all;  especially 
if  his  hand  be  no  luckier  than  mine. 
There  is  some  help  for  all  the  defects 
of  Fortune ;  for  if  a  man  cannot  attain 
to  the  length  of  his  wishes,  he  may  have 
remedy  by  cutting  them  shorter.  Epi^ 
curus  writes  a  letter  to  Idomeneus,  who 
was  then  a  very  powerful,  wealthy,  and 
(it  seems)  a  bountiful  person,  to  recom^ 
mend  to  him  who  had  made  so  many 

45 


Rich,  one  Pythocles,  a  Friend  of  his, 
whom  he  desired  might  be  made  a  Rich 
Man  too:  But  I  intreat  you  that  you 
would  not  do  it  just  the  same  way  as 
you  have  done  to  many  less  deserving 
persons,  but  in  the  most  Gentleman 
manner  of  obliging  him,  which  is  not 
to  add  any  thing  to  his  Estate,  but  to 
take  something  from  his  desires.  The 
sum  of  this  is.  That  for  the  certain 
hopes  of  some  conveniences  we  ought 
not  to  defer  the  execution  of  a  work 
that  is  necessary,  especially  when  the 
use  of  those  things  which  we  would 
stay  for,  may  otherwise  be  supplyed, 
but  the  loss  of  time  never  recovered. 
Nay,  farther  yet,  though  we  were  sure 
to  obtain  all  that  we  had  a  mind  to, 
though  we  were  sure  of  getting  never 
so  much  by  continuing  the  Game,  yet 
when  the  Light  of  Life  is  so  near  going 
out,  and  ought  to  be  so  precious,  Le  jeu 
ne  vaut  pas  la  Chandele,  The  Play  is 
not  worth  the  expence  of  the  Candle : 
46 


after  having  been  long  tost  in  a  tem^ 
pest,  if  our  Masts  be  standing,  and  we 
have  still  Sail  and  Tackling  enough  to 
carry  us  to  our  Port,  it  is  no  matter  for 
the  want  of  Streamers  and  Top^Gal^ 
lants ;  Utere  velis,  Totos  pande  sinus. 
A  Gentleman  in  our  late  Civil  Wars, 
when  his  Quarters  were  beaten  up  by 
the  Enemy,  was  taken  Prisoner,  and 
lost  his  Life  afterwards,  only  by  staying 
to  put  on  a  Band,  and  adjust  his  Perri^ 
wig :  He  would  escape  like  a  person  of 
quality,  or  not  at  all,  and  dyed  the  no^ 
ble  Martyr  of  Ceremony  and  Gentility. 
I  think  your  counsel  of  Festina  lente  is 
as  ill  to  a  man  who  is  flying  from  the 
World,  as  it  would  have  been  to  that 
unfortunate  well-bred  Gentleman,  who 
was  so  cautious  as  not  to  fly  undecently 
from  his  Enemies,  and  therefore  I  pre.- 
fer  Horace^s  advice  before  yours.  Sa^ 
pere  aude,  Incipe.  Begin,  the  getting  out 
of  doors  is  the  greatest  part  of  the  Jour^ 
ney.  Varro  teaches  us  that  Latin  prov^ 

47 


erb,  Portam  Itinere  longissimam  esse : 
But  to  return  to  Horace, 

Begin,  be  bold,  and  venture  to  be  wise; 
He  who  defers  this  work  from  day  to  day. 
Does  on  a  Rivers  bank  expecting  stay, 
Till  Che  whole  stream,  which  stopt  him, 

should  be  gone, 
That  runs,  and  as  it  runs,  forever  will  run  on. 

Caesar  (the  man  of  Expedition  above 
all  others)  was  so  far  from  this  Folly, 
that  whensoever  in  a  journey  he  was 
to  cross  any  River,  he  never  went  one 
Foot  out  of  his  way  for  a  bridge,  or  a 
Foord  or  a  Ferry,  but  flung  himself  in^ 
to  it  immediately,  and  swam  over;  and 
this  is  the  course  we  ought  to  imitate, 
if  we  meet  with  any  stops  in  our  way 
to  happiness.  Stay  till  the  waters  are 
low,  stay  till  some  boats  come  by  to 
transport  you,  stay  till  a  bridge  be  built 
for  you;  You  had  even  as  good  stay  till 
the  River  be  quite  past.  Persius  (who 
you  use  to  say,  you  do  not  know  wheth^ 
er  he  be  a  good  Poet  or  no,  because  you 

48 


cannot  understand  him,  and  whom 
therefore  (I  say)  I  know  to  be  not  a 
good  Poet)  has  an  odd  expression  of 
these  Procrastinators,  which  methinks 
is  full  of  Fancy. 

Our  Yesterdays  Tomorrow  now  is  gone, 
And  still  a  new  Tomorrow  does  come  on, 
"We  by  Tomorrows  draw  up  all  our  store. 
Till  the  exhausted  Well  can  yield  no  more. 

And  now,  I  think  I  am  even  with 
you,  for  your  Otium  cum  dignitate  and 
Festina  lente,  and  three  or  four  other 
more  of  your  new  Latine  Sentences :  if 
I  should  draw  upon  you  all  my  forces 
out  of  Seneca  and  Plutarch  upon  this 
subject,  I  should  over^whelm  you,  but 
I  leave  those  as  Triarii  for  your  next 
charge.  I  shall  only  give  you  now  a  light 
skirmish  out  of  an  Epigrammatist,  your 
special  good  friend,  and  so,  Vale. 

Tomorrow  you  will  Live,  you  always  cry; 
In  what  far  Country  does  this  Morrow  lye? 
Tomorrow  I  will  live,  the  Fool  does  say; 
Today  it  self's  too  late,  the  Wise  liv'd  Yes^ 
terday. 

49 


Initials  by  Peter  Verburg.  The  portrait 
on  India  paper  is  from  an  old  engraving 
by  W.  Faithome.  The  edition  consists 
of  no  copies  on  Bachelor  paper,  prints 
ed  by  Everett  Lee  Millard. 


PP^SS 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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